


In Which Sherlock Finds Himself Stuck Between a Wall and a Hard Place

by Teh_Poet



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Muscle Worship, Oral, PWP, Wall Sex, just porn, little redemption is found here, spit (a tiny bit), this is porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 22:21:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3334886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teh_Poet/pseuds/Teh_Poet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock didn't know - hadn't realized - but now he's noticed...</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Sherlock Finds Himself Stuck Between a Wall and a Hard Place

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jinglebell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinglebell/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY JINGLIES I <3 YOU ^O^/!!!

“How did you know?”

 

Sherlock’s skull collided with the wall, but it wasn’t important _those fucking hands_ “It was the jumpers,” he huffed.

 

“Mmm,” John chuckled, “what about them?” He finally had the buttons of Sherlock’s shirt undone, moving on to the zip of his trousers.

 

Sherlock’s words were bit off with a groan as John tongued at his neck, biting gently at the cords of muscle before gripping Sherlock’s buttocks and grinding firmly against his crotch-

 

The vibrations through his chest as John laughed made him feel _alive_ \- “That was a question…?”

 

“guh- I...” he cleared his throat, “There were too many- You always- you always wear them.” He shoved at the fluffy fabric, desperate to finally get John out of one, _to see_.

 

John pulled off enough to let the garments pass over his head. When his head came free of the collar, his short hair was stuck up in the wrong directions, and the piercing gaze held Sherlock more firmly to the wall than his hands had.

 

“John-“ desperate, keening… His shivering fingers gripped John’s flank, before greedily moving over the torso, pausing to thumb a nipple here or prod at a scar there. But more importantly- _more importantly_ \- “ _John_ -!”

 

John’s pectorals were, for lack of a more elegant word, _huge_. Sherlock couldn’t fit a single hand around the girl of his bicep. There was a six pack _a goddamned six pack_. The image John presented – shirtless, hair ruffled, trousers unfastened and sagging loose on his angular hips – was enough to make Sherlock weak at the knees, so he went with it…

 

“What are you-!”

 

The surprise in John’s voice made it worth it, almost as much as actually getting that _fucking huge_ that monster he kept hidden in his pants, of course he’d have a huge prick _of course_ … Sherlock’s pulled John’s clothing down his _impossibly defined_ thighs and didn’t _couldn’t didn’t want to_ hold back, he simply held John’s cock steady and descended upon it like a starving man _Christ_ he could barely get half of it down, relaxing his throat graduated him to a solid fifty percent and the thought alone had him whining _needy filthy little-_ or rather he would have whined were there any way for the air to escape, but his nasal passage was effectively closed off and it came out a choked pathetic gasp of a thing. He looked up, at the deceptive creature his life somehow ended up entwined with – elbows braced against the wall, face severe and gazing down intently – it made him _want_.

 

John seemed to have no compunction about pushing into Sherlock’s plush wet mouth, and the detective couldn’t breathe but that _just fine_ because the finest flush was infusing John’s skin, down his strong neck and over his chest and a predatory gleam flashed into his eyes when Sherlock tried _tried oh how he tried_ to take more of him down- of course it didn’t work but it didn’t matter because John suddenly reached down and gripped his shirt, pulling him up…

 

“John-“ Sherlock’s vocabulary was markedly reduced, his voice deep and scratched beyond recognition from the prick being shoved down his throat- _he felt so dirty_

 

“Trousers off…” John seemed to be doing only marginally better, but they were a single mind set on the common task of divesting Sherlock of the rest of his clothing. John ended up doing most of the work because Sherlock _couldn’t stop touching_ entranced with each swell of muscle _such a delicious surprise_

 

“You’re always surprising me John,” he ground out, chest heaving and head spinning.

 

“Good thing, yeah?” Once he had Sherlock bared from the waist down he refocused his attention on his face _looked right into him_ and cupped his jaw, pressing their mouths together- nothing slow and gentle _intense hurried perfect_ before manhandling _manhandling_ him into a better position. Sherlock couldn’t hold in the yelp when John lifted him from the floor _surprise delight so turned on his teeth hurt_ and then John slotted their pricks together. It was so hot and so smooth and John was _so big_

 

Sherlock didn’t even need to wrap his legs around John’s waist to hold himself up, John simply pressed him into the wall and used his _gorgeous hidden_ strength to keep him there and _oh Christ_. John held the both of them in his hand and spit down on their cocks, letting the saliva ease the friction of his hand. Sherlock had to press his eyes shut _he couldn’t stand this he wasn’t going to last_ and John pressed his face into his neck and mouthed at the sensitive skin and it was enough _it was too much_ and he hardly recognized the noises tearing themselves from his throat as his muscles seized and he gripped tight at John’s shoulders as he came apart in his arms, heaving out his pleasure, groaning when it was over as the intensity robbed him of any will to move.

 

John let go of Sherlock’s prick, refusing to put him down as he fisted himself quickly, and Sherlock could feel his _impossible firm perfect_ abdominals tensing even further beneath his buttocks and thighs. John cursed under his breath, once- twice- _yes John, please yes_ and then he dropped his head into Sherlock’s shoulder and the detective registered the pulses of John’s emission adding to his own, painting his stomach and getting in the fabric of the button down that somehow never made it off his arms. When finally John finished trembling through his own orgasm, he heaved out a deep breath and looked back up at Sherlock, still pressed between him and the wall. His eyes flicked up and down the detective, taking in the mess they’d made and his mouth quirked up into a smile. When their gazes met, the smile morphed into a giggle and Sherlock couldn’t help but mirror the gesture- soon the two were laughing like idiots and it was all okay-


End file.
